


Sometimes Winning Is No Fun at All

by Edgar Allan Bro (Addie221B)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Analysis, Fake Character Death, Gen, Monologue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 18:11:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/726301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Addie221B/pseuds/Edgar%20Allan%20Bro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anderson asseses his former relationship with Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes Winning Is No Fun at All

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



„Well, the office will definitely be quieter from now on...” muttered Anderson, while Sally Donovan was rubbing his back. Despite him having told her millions of times that the arrogance of that so-called amateur `consulting detective` was pissing him off in every way imaginable, she doubtlessly felt a note of disappointment in his voice, as he was trying to maintain his despising appearance. Lestrade couldn`t have noticed the flicker in his voice, he was too focused on the black coffin in front of him that was helplessly dripping with raindrops. Anderson cast a quick look at every person in the gathering; they must have either admired or been helped by Sherlock Holmes. Why would they even be at his funeral if none of those was true?

That question kept nagging him. He certainly didn`t admire Holmes, not even dead as he was, and the help he received came with the cost of constantly being reminded about all the bullying he got in high school. He wouldn`t admit to himself that he was there only for being sure that bastard genuinely bit the dust, because that was not entirely true either.

*******

„Anderson, put that back, quick as you like” exclaimed John, every fiber of his being raging against the image of that idiot touching the deerstalker. His deerstalker. Anderson glanced at Watson from the corner of his eye, internally disobeying but realising there was not even a good reason for feeling so uncomfortable because of Holmes` sudden death. In front of his eyes there was an invisible fast-forwarding through the celebration of the victory where Lestarde gave Sherlock that stupid hat. His cheeky smile, Donovan covering her laugh at the confused look in the eyes of the detective, the front pages of all the newspapers in the store next to his flat. He couldn`t have asked for more. But seeing that piece of fabric silently resting on the armchair where should have been the silhouette of his only pain in the neck threw him in a pool of aftermaths. He put it back, turned towards the door and walked to the stairs. The last time he stood in Baker Street, the room was littered with cops trying to prove that Sherlock was a junkie. Hell, he even helped them and he was so, so satisfied. And when they broke in and arrested Sherlock, he had never been happier in his whole life. He finally won. The great boffin was a fake. But now, now no victory could bright him up. „Sometimes winning is no fun at all” said Anderson to himself, as he was closing the front door of 221B forever.

*******

`Idiot`, smiled Sherlock with a crooked curl on his lips. The view from the window of the first floor of the flat right across 221B gave him a strange insight into the character of Anderson. He had been told before that even if his sight was impressive in terms of observing and analysing, he was blind when it came to people, but he marked as impossible the correlation between this theory and Anderson the instant he heard it. If he had been human enough to have the ability to feel bad about insulting people, he would still have no disagree with the harsh choice of words he used whenever he met the Forensics technician. Would he take back any of them if he could? Maybe.

What Sherlock Holmes could not observe was the way in which he changed after having seen how much pain his reckless mind game caused. And there, buried deep under the weight of regret for shattering his flatmate`s heart to pieces, for watching Mrs. Hudson restraining her tears at his funeral, even for observing the genuinely scare in every muscle on his brother`s face, was the regret for being such a dick with Anderson. Sherlock had always thought that the guy was, as all the other people, merely an idiot, the kind that whose mind was too petty to admire or understand the power of his logical reasoning, and the reality was not incredibly far from complete truth, but he couldn`t have fathomed that there would be a part of Anderson genuinely sad of his possible death. No, Sherlock Holmes did not have time to bother his racing mind with such concerns when Sebastian Moran was still on the streets. Soon, the last thread of James Moriarty`s criminal web would walk into that room and he needed to stay quiet and focused. After that, he promised he would allow himself to be as human as he could.

He did not see Anderson when he looked up to the window from the sidewalk in front of Baker Street when he saw the curtain slightly moving. `Yeah, great, now I have hallucinations too. As if he could still be alive...`.


End file.
